On the Tuesday afternoon, in a temporary lull of the hail and wind, I started off on a walk across the island.  The wind was still blowing from the southwest, and filling all the narrow sea between us and Guernsey with boiling surge.  Very angry looked the masses of foam whirling about the sunken reefs, and very ominous the low-lying, hard blocks of clouds all along the horizon.  I strolled as far as the Coupee, that giddy pathway between Great and Little Sark, where one can see the seething of the waves at the feet of the cliffs on both sides, three hundred feet below one.  Something like a panic seized me.  My nerves were too far unstrung for me to venture across the long, narrow isthmus.  I turned abruptly again, and hurried as fast as my legs would carry me back to Tardif’s cottage.

I had been away less than an hour, but an advantage had been taken of my absence.  I found Tardif seated at the table, with a tangle of silky, shining hair lying before him.  A tear or two had fallen upon it from his eyes.  I understood at a glance what it meant.  Mother Renouf had cut off my patient’s pretty curls as soon as I was out of the house.  I could not be angry with her, though I did not suppose it would do much good, and I felt a sort of resentment, such as a mother would feel, at this sacrifice of a natural beauty.  They were all disordered and ravelled.  Tardif’s great hand caressed them tenderly, and I drew out one long, glossy tress and wound it about my fingers, with a heavy heart.

“It is like the pretty feathers of a bird that has been wounded,” said Tardif, sorrowfully.

Just then there came a knock at the door and a sharp click of the latch, loud enough to penetrate Dame Tardif’s deaf ears, or to arouse our patient, if she had been sleeping.  Before either of us could move, the door was thrust open, and two young ladies appeared upon the door-sill.

They were—­it flashed across me in an instant—­old school-fellows and friends of Julia’s.  I declare to you honestly, I had scarcely had one thought of Julia till now.  My mother I had wished for, to take her place by this poor girl’s side, but Julia had hardly crossed my mind.  Why, in Heaven’s name, should the appearance of these friends of hers be so distasteful to me just now?  I had known them all my life, and liked them as well as any girls I knew; but at this moment the very sight of them was annoying.  They stood in the doorway, as much astonished and thunderstricken as I was, glaring at me, so it seemed to me, with that soft, bright-brown lock of hair curling and clinging round my finger.  Never had I felt so foolish or guilty.

“Martin Dobree!” ejaculated both in one breath.

“Yes, mesdemoiselles,” I said, uncoiling the tress of hair as if it had been a serpent, and going forward to greet them; “are you surprised to see me?”

“Surprised!” echoed the elder.  “No; we are amazed—­petrified!  However did you get here?  When did you come?”